


Fudge-Packer

by magneticdice



Series: Fic!February15 [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Challenge - Fic!February, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magneticdice/pseuds/magneticdice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Co-Workers AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fudge-Packer

When Ian came to work on one Monday morning at the beginning of summer, he froze at the entrance of the old movie theater. The glass doors in the front were completely shattered, the metal frames bent in as if a car had been driven through them. He looked on further into the theater and saw that all of the concessions counters had also been broken into, leaving boxes of candy strewn all over the floor.

“Holy shit,” he whispered to no one in particular.

“Oh, Ian. There you are,” his manager, Allen, said, walking out of the main office. Ian noticed that the door was off its hinges. Two police officers followed Allen out of the room.

“What the hell happened?” Ian asked him.

“Some asshole kids drove their car through the entrance, broke into the office and took the whole safe out with them. Then the broke the concession stand and took candy too,” Allen explained.

“Good thing we have them on video,” one of the officers said, patting the VHS tape in his hand that he’d gotten from their security cameras. “Shouldn’t be hard to track them down, especially since we could see the license plate clearly.”

The officers left and Ian spent his entire shift carefully sweeping up glass shards. The theater had to close until the door company could come and replace the frames and glass. The whole process took three days, but, luckily, they were ready to open before the weekend’s new releases.

On the following Friday, Allen got a call from the police department telling him that they’d arrested the kids responsible for the break-in: three brothers from Canaryville. Two of the brothers had been sent to Juvie since they already had records, but one of them had been sentenced to community service because it had been his first offense. The judge had agreed to let him work at the movie theater until he paid off the cost of the repairs to the doors and counters, as well as the estimated losses the theater had incurred due to being closed for the three days after the robbery.

The kid’s name was Mickey Milkovich. His probation officer came by with him later that afternoon, and explained everything to the manager. With jet black hair, pale, dirt-smudged skin and knuckle tattoos that spelled “FUCK U-UP”, he looked like pure trouble; and, according to Allen, it was Ian’s job to train Mickey and show him the ropes.

Ian tried to be nice to Mickey... He really did. Everyone made mistakes, after all, so he decided to give Mickey the benefit of the doubt, only holding the tiniest of grudges against him for having to clean up the mess from the Milkovich brothers’ vandalization spree.

He spent the weekend patiently explaining everything to Mickey, from selling tickets and cleaning bathrooms to making the popcorn and sweeping the theaters after the films had ended. He told him about the toilet in the ladies' room that would only flush if you pulled the handle forward instead of pushing it down, the door to the supply room which would lock from the outside if it wasn't left propped open, and even about only using half of the recommended butter sauce amount on the popcorn, otherwise the grease level got to be too intense. Nothing was actually complicated and Ian imparted his know-how freely, but Mickey huffed at every step Ian showed him, making faces and rushing him along.

It didn’t take long for Ian to lose his patience with the delinquent. Even though Mickey did everything he was told to, he did his job half-assed, so Ian ended up having to redo Mickey’s work anyway. He would disappear for half an hour at a time when he wasn’t even scheduled for a break, and would come back as if he’d done nothing wrong, just expecting Ian to cover for him.

Ian felt like a total pushover whenever he saw Mickey getting his time-card signed for his probation officer, but never worked up the courage to tell Allen the truth about the missing hours. He also caught Mickey eating snacks he hadn’t paid for on more than one occasion, especially Snickers bars, but never reported him. Week after week, Mickey continued acting like a jerk and taking advantage of Ian.

Probably what pissed him off the most was how Mickey would call him “Gallagher” all the time instead of “Ian”. Of course, Mickey had no way of knowing about his personal life, but growing up in a houseful of brothers and sisters made you sensitive to stuff like that. Ian's name gave him his own identity, while the last name “Gallagher” lumped him together as just another one of Frank's many kids.

One afternoon, Ian went to the open supply room to get a box of Sour Patch Kids he’d asked Mickey to restock hours ago and found the brunet sitting in against some boxes, smoking a cigarette.

“Holy shit, Mickey. You can’t smoke in here!” Ian complained.

“Well, since it’s the only room without a smoke detector, I think I can,” the brunet answered with a grin.

Ian felt the guilt set in again. He _had_ to tell Allen this time. This was something actually dangerous, not just to Mickey but to everyone in the theater. If Mickey started a fire in the small room, it would get out of control before any alarms went off. He glared at Mickey and felt his rage grow as the older boy calmly continued smoking his cigarette.

Ian exhaled and counted ten, trying to control his temper. His mind was set on finally telling Allen everything. He left and took two steps towards the main office when he suddenly turned around and stormed back into the room, sending the door flying shut behind him. His attempt at remaining calm was a complete failure.

“I get that you don't give a shit about this job. I get that it sucks having to work here all summer, all the time, without getting paid, when you could be outside doing whatever the fuck you would normally do. But you know what would suck even more?” he yelled, all of his anger and frustrations from the last two months finally coming to the surface. “Being sent to Juvie. Being locked up all summer. Having a fucking record. _That_ would fucking suck.”

“Gallagher...” Mickey began.

“Oh my fucking God, it's Ian!” he screamed. “Ian! It's just two fucking syllables and it's a hell of a lot shorter than “Gallagher” so I don't get what’s so fucking hard about using my actual name!”

Mickey bit his lip before talking again. “Ian,” he said slowly, making a face as if the name was foreign to him. “You let the door close,” he told Ian, pointing at the only exit with his cigarette.

“What?”

Ian spun to look at the direction of Mickey's gaze and gasped when he realized what the brunet was trying to tell him. In his rage, he had dislodged the wedge propping the door open, allowing it to lock behind them.

“Guess we're both on a break now,” Mickey joked.

Ian whipped his head back around and scowled, but then the gravity of the situation set in. The movie in Theater 3 would be ending in less than an hour, and with Allen in the box office, no one would be there to make sure everyone actually left instead of sneaking in to another theater. He wouldn't even be able to clean up before the next showing.

“Fuck me,” he groaned. Mickey let out a soft chuckle and Ian narrowed his eyebrows at him.

“You think this is funny?” he spat. The brunet shook his head but continued laughing, further infuriating Ian. “I bet you planned this whole thing!” he accused.

It was Mickey's turn to scowl. “Yeah, cuz I was the one who had a little hissy fit and closed the door, right?”

Ian pressed his lips together tightly, reluctant to accept Mickey's defense despite the logic in it.

“There has to be another way out,” he said, looking around the small, windowless room for anything that would provide them with some hope of getting out. “We're gonna be stuck here all night,” he groaned. “Allen probably won't even come looking for us until tomorrow.”

“At least we won't go hungry,” Mickey supplied, reaching into the box beside him and pulling out a package of Kit Kat Mini Bites.

“We can't eat that! It belongs to the theater!” Ian yelled, moving towards Mickey and grabbing the candy out of his hands.

“Yo, relax Galla- _Ian_ ,” Mickey said, quickly correcting himself. “Why the fuck do you care so much about this shithole anyway?”

“It's not a shithole,” Ian bit back defensively. He tossed the chocolate back into its box leaned back against the wall across from Mickey, crossing his arms over his chest. “It's a good job. A _steady_ job, with steady income and lots of hours. And Allen's a great manager. He covers for me if I’m gonna be late or if I need to get home early. He hired me when I was fourteen and has always let me make my own schedule.”

Mickey finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on the concrete. He looked at Ian and rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, why don’t you just blow the guy already?”

Ian felt his cheeks turn red in response to Mickey’s accusation and looked away so that the older boy wouldn’t see his tell. Nothing had ever happened between him and his boss but that didn’t mean Ian hadn’t wanted it to.

When he looked back at Mickey, the brunet was smirking at him. “You dirty little faggot. Are you fucking the boss?”

“No!” Ian quickly denied it. “And I’m not a faggot,” he added.

“Yeah, sure you ain’t,” Mickey mused. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Snickers bar.

“Did you take that from concessions?” Ian asked, glowering at Mickey.

The brunet shrugged. “What if I did?”

“Don’t you dare eat that,” Ian ordered.

“Or what, Gallagher? You’ll tell on me to your boyfriend?”

“Shut up! He’s not my boyfriend. And yeah, I will. I’m done letting you get away with stealing from the theater.”

Mickey made no show of stopping.

“I’m serious. Don’t eat that!”

Mickey began peeling back the wrapper and Ian bent forward, instinctively reaching for the chocolate bar. He felt something collide with him, sending him flying forward. From his superior position on the floor, Mickey had been able to sweep Ian’s legs out from under him, sending the redhead plummeting towards the concrete. Ian held his hands out to break his fall but it all happened too quickly.

He hit the ground and his whole body vibrated from the impact. Before he had a chance to recover, Mickey was on top of him, using his weight to hold Ian down while pinning his arms to the ground with his hands.

“You think you stand a chance against me, Gallagher?” Mickey taunted, cocky smile only inches from Ian’s face.

“I’m not the pussy you think I am,” Ian spat. He did what years of living in the South Side had taught him to do: without any warning, he threw his head forward and hit Mickey right in the nose. The brunet’s head went reeling back and he momentarily let go of his grip on Ian’s hands, allowing Ian to free the rest of his limbs.

Mickey recovered quickly and they wrestled on the floor in the small area of the supply room that wasn’t covered in boxes. It was a messy struggle, neither boy able to gain an upper hand until Ian reached behind him and used one of the bags of chocolate to hit Mickey in the face.

The impact stunned him, but then he surprised Ian by laughing. “Did you just fucking hit me with the bag of Kit Kats?” Mickey asked, feigning insult. “Who the fuck uses chocolate as a weapon?”

Mickey leaned back so that was a safe distance away from Ian then lay down on the floor and breathed in heavily, clearly exhausted. Ian lay down too, but remained wary. He really needed to catch his breath.

“Taking your fudge-packing responsibilities a little too seriously, don’t you think, Gallagher? Apparently you should be saving that shit for Allen,” he teased.

“Don’t call me that,” Ian demanded, and delivered a weak kick to Mickey’s leg which probably felt more like a strong tap that anything else.

“Fine, sorry. _Ian_ ,” Mickey amended.

“I meant the fudge-packer part,” Ian said, laughing despite his anger. Mickey joined him, letting out a pained chuckle.

“Whatever,” Mickey muttered, but Ian thought he heard an apologetic tone to it.

“The Snickers bar was mine, by the way,” Mickey told him a few moments later.

“What?”

“I brought it with me from home. My sister buys them in bulk for me from Costco,” Mickey explained.

“But… you said it was from concessions,” Ian said.

“No,” Mickey corrected, attempting to sit up. “ _You_ assumed I’d stolen it. I just didn’t deny it.”

Ian propped himself up on his elbow and took a good look at Mickey’s face to try to determine if there was any truth to his claim. Mickey was actually smiling. “You _dick_!” Ian said, laughing. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t been such a fucking asshole.”

He stood and held a hand out to help pull Mickey up. Mickey stared at Ian’s offered hand skeptically before accepting it, but instead of getting up, he pulled Ian in closer and kissed him quickly on the lips.

“What the‒” Ian started, but was cut off by the sound of the door opening.

Allen stood in the doorway. “Hey, did you guys get locked in?” he asked, seemingly unaware of the drama that had just gone down between his employees.

“Uhm, yeah. I forgot about putting the rubber wedge there,” Mickey told him, then quickly brushed past their manager and walked towards the counter without making eye contact with Ian.

The boys spent the rest of their shift in silence. Mickey avoided eye contact with Ian at all costs. At the end of the night, while Mickey got his time sheet signed by Allen, Ian waited outside the theater for him. It was well past two in the morning and there weren’t any people out on the streets. When Mickey walked out and saw Ian standing there, he made a beeline in the opposite direction.

“Mickey, wait up,” he called after him, but the brunet showed no sign of stopping. Ian picked up his pace to catch up to him. “Mickey…”

“What the fuck do you want, Ian?” Mickey asked, stopping suddenly and turning to face him.

Ian was kind of caught off guard, and not just by the use of his first name. He hadn’t planned out anything to say, and he felt kind of put on the spot. “I just… I don’t know,” he said.

Mickey huffed out a sigh and continued walking away.

“It was nice!” Ian yelled after him. He ran until he was standing in front of Mickey, forcing the older boy to stop. His cheeks suddenly felt very warm again. “I was surprised, but… I liked it,” he said, voice low, like they were conspiring together about something. Well, they sort of were...

Ian stared at Mickey, looking for any clues on his face about how he was feeling. He gave Mickey a small, tentative smile. “I do have one complaint, though,” Ian said. “I mean, if you’re taking notes on where to improve…”

Mickey’s face twisted into a combination of shock and anger. “Yeah? What’s that?” he demanded, clenching his fists.

“Needs to be longer next time,” Ian said, leaning forward and pressing his lips against Mickey’s.

The rest of the summer was like a dream for Ian. He and Mickey not only took every opportunity to hook up in the supply room, but also in the bathrooms, the empty theaters, and even once behind the concession stand.

When Mickey’s community service hours were fulfilled, Ian managed to convince Allen to keep him on for good ‒ a redemption tale of sorts.


End file.
